5 comments/ 15269 views/ 3 favorites Grandma's Big Oven and Me By: elleann (Author's note: this story is partly about the "girl cooking" fetish which to me is both hilarious and sexy but if it turns you off, this is your warning to stop here. Otherwise, I hope you like it.) Two weeks after my 18th birthday Daddy ran off with his secretary and I moved in with his parents, my Grandpa Abner and Grandma Lucy. Mom came right after I did which made my going there pointless, or would have made it pointless under normal circumstances since I had left home because of her. (You'll see what I mean about 'normal circumstances' later in this story). Daddy's secretary was cute but she couldn't compare to Mom who was thirty eight but looked twenty eight and was totally gorgeous. I figured Daddy leaving us had to be partly Mom's fault and maybe all her fault for not satisfying him the way a good wife should. I admit I was a little judgmental about the situation. I'm not a big time feminist. Grandpa and Grandma have a big farmhouse on lots of land set far back from the road by a brook at the bottom of a hill. You can't even see it driving by. The biggest room in the house is the kitchen which was big to begin with but got to be twice as big when Grandpa took down the wall to the dining room, and the biggest thing in the kitchen was an oven. I mean it was ridiculous, or so I thought when Grandma showed it to me . "We put it in a little while ago, right after Grandpa broke out the wall" she said as we were standing there that first morning with sunlight streaming through the windows making everything bright and cheerful. The only part of the oven you could actually see was a glass door like a picture window practically and the control panel beneath it on the wall, the rest of the oven taking up most of what had been a pantry on the wall's other side. The reason for the glass door was "so we can watch our roast cooking," Grandma said. "Why do you and Grandpa want to watch a roast cook?," I said. "Oh, it's not just Grandpa and me, honey. We have a little club, a dining club, I suppose you might say, and we all get together now and then for a nice roast. People like to watch it cook is all." "Oh," I said, wondering if Grandma was getting goofy in her old age. "We roast whole piggies in there, and we've discovered that the piggies taste nice and tangy if you start to cook them while they are still breathing. That's also the best time to watch, you see, right at the beginning." "Oh," I said again. "Yes, and, you know, Elle, your Grandfather I and are very happy you've come to live with us for awhile but a week from Saturday you'll have to go home for the day because we are having one of our club events here and I'm afraid it's a private gathering. You don't mind going home for the day, and for that night, do you? You can come back Sunday after we clean up." "No, that's fine, Grandma," I said, but it didn't seem fine to me. It seemed pretty weird. I had to leave the property? Grandpa came in wearing his pj's, yawning like he just got out of bed. He stopped when he saw me and stared. I get stared at lot so I'm used to it but Grandpa embarrassed me, being my own grandfather. It was the last week of school, the last week of my senior year in high school, actually, and I was wearing a skirt for a change and a jersey which didn't leave much to Grandpa's imagination. I don't always dress to show off but I felt like it that day because of this like underground yearbook which was called "The Smear-Book" that some of the boys made up and which I had just seen a copy of the day before. It had two pages; the first page was about teachers, with lists of the "Ten Worst", also "Smear Awards" for the "Meanest", the "Laziest" and so forth, but it wasn't dirty at all in a sexual way, unlike the second page which was about the students. I was named "Girl We Most Want to Fuck" on the list of "Smearpurlatives". The Smear-Book picked me for a couple of other things that would help explain why I got that first award, which was the only sex type award I received. Marcy Daniels won for "Best Gang Bang" and Katherine Broderick-Adams won for "Best Blow Jobs". I hope you are noticing the difference between the wording of my award and those awards for Marcy and Katherine. I wasn't a virgin exactly but, unlike Marcy and Katherine, I wasn't a total slut either. Anyway, I was dressing a little slutty just for fun. I guess I felt like showing the boys they hadn't made a mistake in picking me for my award. "Damn, Elle, you look good to a man who hasn't had a decent piece of ass in thirty years," Grandpa said, looking me up and down. "Well, thank you, Abner," Grandma said, sarcastically, but I could tell she wasn't upset. "Yes, thank you, Grandpa, for calling me a piece of ass," I said in the same tone as Grandma's, turning around to interrupt his peering at my tits. Grandpa loves to say things he shouldn't say, so I wasn't shocked. But I was disappointed in him. Later, driving myself to school, I started thinking about Grandpa's situation. I could understand what a strain it must be for him to get aroused over Grandma, who is very nice and a really excellent cook but if you were a guy you would have to be blind to want to have sex with her. I thought what a treat it would be for Grandpa to be able to have sex again with a young, pretty girl, like Grandma had been when she was my age. Elle, you idiot, are you considering what I think you're considering?, I asked myself. The feeling I suddenly had in the pit of my stomach, running up my spine, hardening my nipples, and bothering me in one other place answered this question clear as a bell. I was deciding to let Grandpa fuck me. It's what I get for being open minded, I sighed. I was still absorbing my decision about Grandpa when Katherine Broderick-Adams came up to me in the hall. "Have you seen the fake year book?," she said, gripping my arm. "Yeah. Congratulations, Katherine." "It's all over the school. My father's going to sue them." Katherine has a way of bobbing her head when she's excited which causes her long hair to fall in front of her face and she has to keep pushing it back, and she was doing that now. You wondered if all that bobbing limbered her for her blowjobs. "What? It's just a dumb joke." "My parents don't think it's funny. And Daddy says Dr. Peterman knew all about it and that he gave the guys his secret permission." "Uh oh. I can almost imagine Dr. Peterman doing that. How does your father know that?" "Roger Erickson heard it from Bernie who helped write the fucking thing and then Roger told Daddy and showed it to him." Roger was a brown noser. I remembered that he had a part time job with Mr. Adams' business. "Darn it. I feel sorry for Dr. Peterman. I wonder if it's true. So, I guess your parents weren't that proud of you for your big award?" "Don't be a wise ass. We're in the same boat, remember." "We're in different boats, Katherine. I'm in the Want Boat. You're in the Been There Done That Boat." - - - - - - - - I was already going to be late for my first class but on an impulse I turned around and went back toward the admin office. I don't know why I did except that I was worried about Dr. Peterman and wished I could talk to him. The office has a glass wall. Just inside there is a counter and behind it a bunch of desks for the secretaries and behind the desks two private offices side by side, for the vice principal and for Dr. Peterman, our great principal, who is liked by all the kids for his tolerant ways and sense of humor. He's sexy, too, tall and athletic. I had a kind of crush on him. It must have been fate that made me go back because as I was going by the glass wall Dr. Peterman came out of his office and saw me. I gave him a friendly wave. He beckoned me inside. "Good morning, Miss Blake," he said. "Hi, Dr. Peterman," I replied, ignoring the secretaries who were staring at me, thinking God knows what. Without another word, Dr. Peterman ushered me into his office. Seated in front of his desk was a distinguished looking man with thick white hair and a ruddy face, wearing a blue suit and red tie, in contrast to Dr. Peterman's chinos and corduroy jacket. The man looked at me through his horn rimmed glasses. "Mr. Adams meet Elleann Blake," Dr. Peterman said, pulling up a chair for me. I smiled at Katherine Broderick-Adams daddy and sat down beside him. "Ah, the Miss Blake who has been libeled like my daughter, I presume." "One in the same," Dr. Peterman said, quietly. "She happened to be out in the hall just now. I asked her to come in given her possible interest in the matter. Mr. Adams is rightly offended by our underground publication, Miss Blake. He informs me that he intends to sue." "Oh. For libel? Was I libeled? I thought I was flattered." Dr. Peterman laughed. "Mr. Adams misspoke in your case. The Smear-Book said nothing about you directly. It merely disclosed the high opinion in which you are held, in a manner of speaking." "I've heard about you, Miss Blake. Frankly, I'm not surprised you would feel flattered," Mr. Adams said in a tone I didn't really care for. If Mr. Adams had to be a jerk, I wanted him to be a disgusting jerk, but he wasn't. He was ruggedly good-looking, and he seemed fit like Dr. Peterman, about fifty, I'd say, which would be a few years older than Dr. Peterman, and he had a deep, mellow voice which was very sexy when you got used to it. I crossed my legs, knowing my short skirt would slide further up my thighs. Then I patted my top as if I were brushing off a crumb, which in this case was like pushing a snowball down a ski jump, one with a poky nipple at the end. I could tell Mr. Adams was paying attention. "Yes, and are you trying to flatter me, Mr. Adams." "I'm sorry?" "I mean are you flattering me by looking at my legs and my breasts. I do feel flattered, sir. You don't have to be sorry about it." Mr. Adams ruddy face got ruddier. "Why you little snit!" "None of that!" Dr. Peterman snapped. Then he smiled at me and softened his voice. "Mr. Adams feels aggrieved by what the students published about Katherine. I don't blame him. He wanted the satisfaction of telling me in person of his intention to sue. He believes that I personally authorized it. The truth is, I was aware of the first page, but not the second. I saw no harm in the students expressing themselves anonymously about some of our faculty, though I couldn't officially condone it. I did not sanction or know of the obscenities. I called you in, Miss Blake, because of your knowledge of the situation." My knowledge of the situation? It took me a second to catch on. Then it came to me in a flash. Dr. Peterman was gambling that I would back him up, first by being smart enough to realize he wanted me to invent some kind of a story, and then inventing one. He could have asked me before he brought me into the office, but he had too much integrity for that. If I was going to do it, I had to come up with it on my own. Wow! Double wow!! "Oh, well I'm sorry, Dr. Peterman, but the only thing I know is that you asked me if I knew anything about some of the boys making up a fake year book that made fun of a few teachers because Roger Erickson had told you about that and that you wouldn't object as long as the book didn't go around libeling students with lewd comments about them, because you wouldn't stand for something like that. That's all I know, really." As I said that, I looked down at my crossed thigh and rubbed myself with my finger as if I had an itch where the hem of my skirt was and I had to push the hem up even higher than it was to get at the rest of that darn itch. Mr. Adams looked right at me. "The other thing is that if I'm right about libel, and I think I am right, a nasty comment isn't libel if the nasty comment is true." Mr. Adams grinned, still looking right at me. "And you're suggesting it's true that my daughter sucks cock. Okay, I know she does. And I know what libel is. You're an effective tease, Miss Blake. I can see why the boys want to fuck you. But I wonder what your purpose is in teasing me. Anyway, you're correct that a libel case wouldn't stand up in court. It's also true that the publicity would only heighten my daughter's notoriety. So why would I do it?" "I....are you asking me?", I stammered, totally amazed. "I'm asking you. Any ideas?" "He would do it just to get me fired," Dr. Peterman said. "Mr. Adams and I have a history. He also would do it because he's a lunatic. But you need the facts on your side, Henry, and as you've just heard, the critical fact isn't on your side. I didn't know about the second page." "Hmmmm, so you and Miss Tease say. What's your first name, Elleann right?" "Yes, sir." "Sit on my lap, Elleann, while we continue our discussion." "Cut it out, Henry," Dr. Peterman said. Mr. Adams just looked at me and smiled and patted his lap. I almost laughed. I didn't like Mr. Adams because of the threat he was making against Dr. Peterman but I was suddenly finding him kind of interesting. He was right that I had been teasing him, which is like a habit of mine. I think the reason I was teasing him was to make him aware, if I could, of his own sexual weakness so he wouldn't be so holier than thou about the same thing in other people, but Mr. Adams being holier than thou obviously wasn't the problem. "I don't mind sitting on his lap," I chirped, and I hopped off my chair and onto Mr. Adams, who made a big gasp when I landed. I sat sidewise on his lap with my legs dangling over the side of his chair, which was armless. I put an arm around his back to support myself and then I ran my fingers through his white hair. "Jeepers, Mr. Adams, do you think it would be fair for a person to make a naughtiness complaint against a school principal if that same person decided to be naughty himself in the school principal's office?" As I was saying this, I felt something getting hard and big against my bottom. Mr. Adams put his hand on my knee. "I think that depends," he said, sliding his hand up my thigh to the edge of my skirt. "On what?" I grabbed his wrist to let him know his hand had traveled far enough. "On the degree of naughtiness involved," he said, ignoring my hand and pushing his beneath my skirt, then stopping, having let me know who was boss. I started to tingle all over. Dr. Peterman looked pained, as if he didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do either, but I definitely was becoming impressed by Mr. Adams in more ways than one. Looking back, Mr. Adams had been bluffing or he'd decided that having me on his lap was more fun than making life miserable for Dr. Peterman. Either way, I already had Mr. Adams' number if I had used my head, but with the man's hardon poking at me from one direction and his hand moving in from another, I wasn't thinking clearly, which is why I didn't say, "Speaking of degree, sir, I'm sure you are committing right now some degree of sexual assault that I will report to the police if you sue Dr. Peterman," and why I did say, "Mr. Adams, are you like the boys who voted for me?" "What?" "Jeepers, do I have to spell it out?" A smile spread across Mr. Adams' red face. "You mean, do I want to fuck you!" "That is what I mean, yes." "Right here? Right now?" "Yes, if that would be a good enough degree of naughtiness and if you promise cross your heart and hope to die not to sue anybody." "I might agree to that." "Okay, do it and then you can fuck me right in this dumb chair, or maybe on the floor if you would like that better or maybe Dr. Peterman could take the papers and phone off his desk. That might be neat, doing it on Dr. Peterman's desk." I was talking like a magpie which is typical of me when I get excited, and I was pretty excited. So was Dr. Peterman. He had been listening to me and Mr. Adams with a flabbergasted expression on his face, and now he stood up at his desk. I wondered if he was going to start clearing it off. "Elle, good God! What are you doing!?" "You heard her. I suggest you lock the door," Mr. Adams said in his great voice. He was excited, himself, of course, as proven by his poking stick, but he sounded like a guy calmly in charge. Boys are never like that, they have like zero self control, whereas a man, at least a man like Mr. Adams, can melt you simply by the way he says, "I suggest you lock the door." I didn't answer Dr. Peterman. I liked it that Mr. Adams answered for me, so I just looked at Dr. Peterman the way a person looks when she is waiting for the person to do something, which in this case was for the person to lock the door. Dr. Peterman looked back at me a few seconds. Then he went and locked it. When he turned around again, his face had changed and there was a bulge in his pants, a giant bulge which I'm sure I would have noticed when he first stood at his desk if he had had it then. Why was Dr. Peterman having that bulge!? I had crush on him like I said but it was a school girl's crush, a dreamy thing that never was supposed to have his actual bulge in the picture, or eyes that looked right into you. I wanted Mr. Adams to let go of me. I wanted to get out of there. "Everything okay, honey?," Dr. Peterman said, grinning. I wanted to say, "No!", but I said, "I...I guess so." Mr. Adams put his hand that wasn't near my panties on one of my tits. "She guesses so," he said. "Yeah, she guesses so," Dr. Peterman said. Mr. Adams turned me on his lap so that I was facing out toward Dr. Peterman who was directly in front of me as he came up. He put his bulged fly almost in my face. "Don't make a lot of noise, sweetheart." I wanted to say, "Dr. Peterman, why are you talking to me this way?," but I said, "I won't." "Good girl. Henry, is it safe to assume this suit idea is dropped?" "Not dropped, exchanged for Miss Sweetie Pie here." "Right." Dr. Peterman went back to his desk and pushed a button on his phone. "Stacy, hold my calls. I'm tied up in here for the next few minutes....I'll let you know." He returned with Mr. Bulge for me to practically breathe on. "Girls will wonder what the hell is going. Let them wonder," he said. Mr. Adams, meanwhile, had been feeling up my tits and stroking the front of my panties with his forefinger, and I had been trying to figure a way out of this mess and keep myself from squirming on the man's lap and I wasn't doing that well at either. In fact, I was starting to feel warm and sexy again, which almost worried me. I was acquiring a friendlier attitude toward Dr. Peterman's bulge, as well. I began to study his bulge. This was pretty easy to do considering the bulge was like six inches from my eyes. You had to be impressed at how big and strong looking that bulge was, and as I was doing it, studying the bulge I mean and being impressed, the finger at my panties changed course and slipped inside. "Oh!" "This reminds me of that time at the picnic," Mr. Adams said, moving his finger to you know where, then pushing it all the way in. "OH!" Dr. Peterman looked down at my bunched skirt. I looked there, too. You might have thought an animal had gotten under my skirt, the way Mr. Adams was moving his hand. "You're finger-fucking her," Mr. Peterman said. I was saying something, too, like, "Ooohhh," but I was trying to be quiet about it so the secretaries wouldn't hear me. "Yeah, I am. Remember how we did that one, at the picnic. I finger-fucked her the whole time we carried her to the spitting horse." "Henry!" "Sorry," Mr. Adams said, fucking me fast as anything. "Elle, I told you the man is a lunatic. Forget what he said," Dr. Peterman said. I was "Elle" again. I wondered why on earth Mr. Adams and Dr. Peterman would bring a girl they were having sex with at a picnic to a horse that was spitting but it was impossible to concentrate, so I stopped thinking about that and I stopped thinking about why Dr. Peterman felt he needed to call me "Elle" again instead of "honey" or "sweetheart" and I forgot about why he snapped at Mr. Adams for mentioning that girl with the horse. For the time being, I forgot about everything except what Mr. Adams was doing to me with his finger and Dr. Peterman's bulge that was seeming to me more and more like a wrapped up candy bar. Grandma's Big Oven and Me Dr. Peterman reached for my skirt and hiked it up, exposing my panties with Mr. Adams' hand inside going like a pump. By now I was squirming to beat the band. "Mmmmm, ohhh," I kept saying, plus comments of a similar nature. Dr. Peterman decided it was time for my candy bar. I watched him unzip his fly, and there it was huge and hard, a white invader with a pink head. Dr. Peterman put his hands on my head, stopping that part of me from squirming but not my other parts, and I opened my mouth like Dr. Peterman expected. Then I could only say, "mmmm," because my mouth filled up. Some girls don't like to suck on this kind of candy, but I love it, not that I'm a pig and do it all the time. I try to control myself like I do with fattening foods. Anyway, it was soooo exciting! I sucked and sucked while Mr. Adams kept on doing me with his naughty finger. The finger stuff was almost over, however, because Mr. Adams I guess got jealous of what Dr. Peterman was doing. Mr. Adams pushed me up to get my panties off, which was tricky with me having M\Dr. Peterman in my mouth but he did it, which is to say, we all did it, and then Mr. Adams pulled my panties down and also managed to get himself ready, and the next thing you knew, there she was, an eighteen year old piece of ass, according to her own grandfather, with one man's cock in her mouth and another man's cock in her honey hole, having a grand old time for herself. Yup, that was me! I can't say I did a great job. I had no experience being fucked by two guys at once, but I did an okay job. A few times going up and down on Mr. Adams I lost Dr. Peterman and had to get him back again and a few times I got so much into what I was doing to Dr. Peterman that I stopped what I was doing on Mr. Adams. I'll spare you the rest of the gory details except to say that Dr. Peterman thought he would do me a favor by not coming in my mouth, which I had been looking forward to!, and so he came all over my face instead and Mr. Adams made me almost faint the way he finished. When it was over, I slid off Mr. Adams' lap and lay on the floor, panting myself back into the real world. By then, my jersey was pushed up over my tits and my skirt and panties weren't even on me. Mr. Adams had yanked them off at some point. "Click." My eyes blinked open and there was Dr. Peterman standing over me with a digital camera. "Click." "Elle, you are never not gorgeous but in the nude and covered with cum (which thanks to Mr. Adams I had lot of on my thighs and tummy to go with Dr. Peterman's contributions to my face) you are a wonder for the ages." Well, with a compliment like that, how could I complain? "Cheese!," I said. - - - - Until the day I had sex with Dr. Peterman and Mr. Adams, which was the same day I decided to let my grandfather screw me, I blithely thought of myself as a different kind of girl from girls like Marcy Daniels and Katherine Broderick-Adams. Those girls were sluts and I wasn't. But driving home from school that afternoon, I could see there was room for argument about this. I wasn't sorry for my experience in Dr. Peterman's office. I still tingled from it, actually, and I wasn't backing away from my decision about Grandpa either. Okay, then why wouldn't I be in the same slut boat with Katherine, as she would say? I decided the answer was episodes. A person could have episodes of slutty-ness and not be a slut as her primary thing provided her slut episodes didn't last too long. In other words, if episodes were all that you had you could still be a worthwhile person. You would have to go from hot to cold, like literally, for this to work, but a strong person could do that and I am a strong person. I felt much better after I thought up my episode theory. It was especially reassuring since I apparently was having a pretty intense episode at the moment. My theory meant I didn't have to worry about stopping yet. I could have all the sex I wanted. I could be like a total nymphomaniac if I felt like it. I would just have to end my episode before it was too late, whatever that meant. Also, a slut episode would have to be followed by a good girl episode, whatever that meant, for a reasonable period of time, whatever that meant. Obviously, there were details to be worked out here, but I would worry about that later. For now I was in a pretty good mood. Home temporarily being at Grandma's house, I was looking forward to seeing her because she was always so nice to me, not that Grandpa wasn't but that situation had become a little complicated because of me, mainly, and also because Grandma is a wonderful cook, unlike my mother who stinks at it. I was hoping to have some of Grandma's home made cookies and milk for an afternoon snack and maybe have a nice talk with her while we waited for Grandpa to come home. Grandma was in the kitchen when I got there getting ready to bake a pie. You should understand that from a dimension standpoint a pie in Grandma's oven was like a bale of hay in Grandpa's barn. So there she was bending in front of the cavern of her oven looking at this tiny object on a heavy metal tray. She closed the oven door and turned on the oven. "Have a nice day at school, honey?" she said. "Mmm, I really did. Grandma aren't you supposed to preheat the oven before you put the pie in." "Not always," she said. We chatted a bit about this and that for a minute, and then she said, "If I were you, I would change out of those clothes before your grandfather comes in. They are all rumpled up. Grandpa will wonder what you have been doing in them." My top and skirt were rumpled a little but they weren't that bad. Grandma was overstating things. Why was she doing that and making a suggestive remark about what I did in them? I was in a devilish mood, thanks to my episode idea plus the tingly after effects from my experience in Dr. Peterman's office, so if it was bait for a sexy conversation that Grandma put out for me I was in the mood to take it. I also thought it was very cute that she might want to have a sexy conversation with me, considering how prim and proper she tended to be about things. "Yes, my clothes got all wrinkled. Are you wondering about that, too, Grandma, what I was doing in them, I mean?" "Well, you left here neat as a pin and now....yes, what happened, dear? If some boy fucked you in the bushes or some such thing, that's perfectly appropriate for a healthy girl your age. Grandpa and I would have no problem with your having sex, no problem at all." "Really?" I was shocked. "Sex is a grand thing. I hope you are having lots of it. Here, you have some spots on that skirt. Hmmm," she said, going to the sink and coming back with a sponge. She made me sit on one of the ladder back kitchen chairs while she got down on her knees in front of me and rubbed the spots off the front of my skirt. "These are jism spots," she said. She was right about the spots. I had been too preoccupied to notice them. I didn't understand how cum could have got on that darned skirt which Mr. Adams had ripped off me before anyone even had an orgasm, that is, anyone but me. "Are you sure?," I said, like a moron. Grandma chuckled. "You're the one in a position to be sure, dear." "Well...," I said, not knowing what to say after "well" but it turned out I didn't have to say anything because Grandma pushed up my skirt to see if I had any spots on my panties. I sat there with my mouth open while Grandma made her inspection. "You have spots on yourself, dear. Did you know that? Never mind," and Grandma began to clean me up, not with the sponge, but by using her forefinger which she licked and then rubbed on me, starting midway on my thigh. "Mmmm, jism has a taste even in itty bitty amounts that dry on a girl," she said, and she put her licked finger on me for like the fourth or fifth time, each touch getting closer to my panties. It was amazing enough that Grandma had such a liberal attitude about sex, but she was totally blowing my mind with what she was doing. I didn't have spots on my thighs. Grandma was just making that up. I had washed myself in the girls' room right after I left Dr. Peterman's office. Good grief, she was being naughty with me! "You heard your grandfather this morning, wishing he didn't have to go to bed with me, old thing that I am!," she said, looking at her finger to see if there was any cum she could lick. "He didn't say that, Grandma." "It's what he meant. It's true, isn't it?" Grandma sat back and made a sour face. "I think you're very pretty Grandma, the way you fix your hair and so forth. And look what a pretty dress you have on?" "This old thing?" Grandma's house dress was sort of cream colored with blue flowers on it and it hung on her without a waist which was all right because Grandma didn't really have a waist. She wasn't fat, she was more like even from her shoulders to her legs. She had her hair in a bun on the top of her head. "I think what Grandpa was saying was that it might be fun for him to have sex with someone younger, you know, just for the variety. That doesn't mean anything, really." "The hell it doesn't." "Grandma! I can't get over you." Now she was looking at my thighs again where my skirt had been pushed back almost to my panties. "Here, Grandma. Let me hold up my skirt for you," I said, using my cutest voice, and I held the skirt straight up. I opened my legs. If Grandma wanted to play with me, I would let her. "Maybe Grandpa isn't the only person who wants a 'decent piece of ass'," I purred. "Oh, my," Grandma murmured. She put her hands under me and I lifted up for her to take off my panties. She knelt there a few moments looking at me. Then she put her head between my legs to have herself a different kind of pie She kissed and licked me around but not on my vagina, taking her time, and pretty soon driving me nuts. "Mmmmm," I kept saying, gritting my teeth, forcing myself to stay still. Lick, lick. Kiss, kiss, went Grandma. When I wasn't holding my head back or squeezing my eyes shut, I watched her grey head moving between my legs. Finally, she put a finger in me a little way. "Not enough honey yet. Grandma likes lots of honey, dear," she said. Grandma finger-fucked me then, my second one of the day by fingers other than mine. She straightened on her knees while she did it and watched my face, to catch my reaction, I guess, and also because she wanted to talk! I had been finger-fucked a few times by boys but none of them ever wanted to have a conversation. "I'll tell you a secret about that oven," she said, finger going in, finger going out. "What?," I breathed. "Well, we do cook piggies in it but before that we play a game. We pretend that one of the ladies in our group is a pig and we oil her up and put her in the oven and pretend to cook her. It's only pretend, mind you. And then we serve her on a platter and people lick her all over and, well, you get the picture." "Oh," I said. "Honey, I want to put you in the oven, " finger going in, finger going out. I just blinked. "You can be our dessert at supper, Elle. It's Friday and I always make Grandpa a nice dessert on Fridays. It's a tradition your grandfather and I have. He always says to me when he comes in, 'What's for desert?' and tonight I was going to say, 'Cherry pie!' Oh my, that would be a lie in your case, wouldn't it, dear? But when he asks tonight, I'll say, 'Hot cunt!!'" Finger going in, finger going out. "Grandma!," I gasped. I don't know why I ever agreed to do it, but I went along with Grandma's crazy idea. She made me lie on my back on her butcher block table with all my clothes off. By the time she finished oiling me up, like she had said, finding lots of naughtiness opportunities along the way, I was in a daze, so that when she told me to put my hands behind my head in order to tie my wrists, I did it without thinking, and when she told me to put my feet together so she could tie my ankles, I did that, and when told me to open my mouth so she could put an apple in it, I opened wide. Next to the dining room (now part of the kitchen) was a small den with a door that had one of those old fashion locks beneath the door knob, the kind that has a key hole. Grandma went to the door and opened it, using a big metal key, and then she rolled out a metal cart and brought it over to the table I was lying on. "Gonna put you on here, honey," she said, braking the cart. Being oiled all over, I was easy to push. Grandma got me on the cart and then rolled me to the oven. She had taken out her pie and left the oven door open for the oven to cool, and it was cool enough she said. Since the top of the cart was even with the bottom of the oven, she pushed me right inside, no problem. I lay there looking up past my apple at the dark coils. It was hot but like summer day hot not like getting yourself cooked hot. In one of the top corners, I noticed what looked like the front of a speaker, and it was the front of a speaker. "The oven is wired for sound, Elle. That's so we can talk to the girls and make fun of them while they are cooking, while they are pretend cooking, I mean. When we actually cook something, there's a heat shield that closes so the speaker doesn't get damaged. It's supposed to close at 125 degrees. Anyway, you'll be able to hear Grandpa when he comes home and how surprised he'll be when I tell him about you being in the oven." Grandma closed the oven door, leaving me feeling strange and alone but also, in a weird way, sexy. She was right about the speaker. I could hear her working in the kitchen and humming to herself. It seemed like forever, but it probably wasn't even half an hour before I heard Grandpa come into the house. The first thing I heard him say was, "What's for dessert?" I waited for Grandma to say, "Hot cunt", but instead she said, "What's the sheepish grin for?" "I got the boys outside," Grandpa said, worriedly "Your bowling team, pardon the expression!?" "Ha, ha. Yup. I know how you feel about surprise guests for dinner so I left 'em on the porch while I talk to you about it. Saw the cherries on the counter fore I left and figured sharing a cherry pie with the fellas after a hard afternoon of, um, bowling would be a good thing. What do you say, Lucy?" "Oh my. You better take a look in the oven, Abner." I lifted my head so I could see Grandpa when he saw me. "Jesus-H-Christ," he muttered as we peered at each other through our "window". Before Grandpa could say anything more, sounds came of people storming into the kitchen. I guess the guests got tired of waiting. It turned out they weren't exactly a bowling team but a bunch of old guys from Grandpa's senior citizens club who went downtown to the "Xellent Cinema" on Friday afternoons to watch porn flicks. Bowling was a cover story for some of their wives, but not Grandma who knew all about it. "Howdy, Lucy!," a voice boomed so loud you didn't need a sound system to hear it. Other guys chimed in, saying hello to Lucy and making apologies for barging in but they all sounded pretty happy to be doing it. I heard the words "cherry pie" a few times. Meanwhile, Grandpa had turned around and put his back against the oven door to hide me though he still hadn't thought of anything to say, apparently. "Let's take a look there, Abner. What ya doin?," the man with the big voice shouted and then a face appeared over Grandpa's shoulder. "God damn, there's a whore in there! Abner's got a whore in the oven. Young one!" Suddenly the old guys were jamming at the oven door, jostling Grandpa out of the way, staring at me like monsters coming to get you in a dream. They all talked at once - about me being a whore, being young - almost a kid, being pretty, wondering where Grandpa got me from, why there was an apple in my mouth, about fucking me, etc. "Open it!", one of them said, meaning the door to the oven. "Wait!" It was Grandma. Everyone quieted down. "You're right, the girl in there is a whore, a nice one, too, as you can see. Abner and me got her for you fellas as a surprise treat when you thought it was going to be a cherry pie. Now the apple is so she can't talk cause the man we got her from doesn't want anyone to know about her or about him. Understand? Now, I'm gonna take her out of the oven, Abner and me, and we're gonna put her on the dinner table and you fellas can eat her to your heart's content, but that's all. She's a cherry pie, remember? You don't have sexual intercourse with no cherry pie. You eat a pie is what you do." "Why can't we fuck her if she's a whore?" "Cause you can't," Grandma said, which wasn't much of an answer of course, as Grandpa must have realized, because he finally thought of something to say. "We only paid the man enough to eat her. Cost too much to fuck her." "How much it cost?" "Never-you-mind. Just be happy you got this much," Grandma snapped. The oven door opened. Grandpa and Grandma slid me out on my tray, then onto the metal cart, while the men stood off a little ways, watching. There were five of them, plus Grandpa. The guy with the big voice was big all over. His name was Bob and as I was being wheeled to the table he asked what my name was. "Hester," Grandma blurted. "What kind of name is that? Sounds like an old lady's name" "It's a whore's name, Bob, that's what it is," Grandma said. "No way. You saying her folks figured she was going to be a whore when they named her?" "Come on, Bob," another guy said. "It's a fake name for a whore. Like the one in the movie, Lorna Cunt. You think Lorna Cunt's that whore actress's real name?" "Could be," Bob said, stubbornly defending his stupidity. They got me onto the table, which was this antique pine table about twelve feet long with sides that folded up to make the table wider but Grandma was leaving the sides down for me. Grandma leaned over me and said, "Hester, I'm going to take out the apple and put in this gag. Don't try to say anything." I nodded that I wouldn't, but Grandma didn't have to worry. I could see what she was doing and I wasn't about to wreck it. I was glad about the apple. My jaw was numb. I just hoped the gag would be smaller and not stretch my mouth as much and, sure enough, it was the right size, made of rubber and round, with a strap that went around my head. I wondered how come Grandma and Grandpa had a gag like that. "How old is she?," a guy named Fred asked, as Grandma was getting me ready on my tray. "She's twenty," Grandpa said. "She ain't twenty. Looks like a high school kid," Fred said. "Shut up, Fred. She's old enough to be a whore, that's all that matters," some other guy said, but I didn't see who. It was pretty confusing. The old guys were blabbing away at each other and walking around the table, looking at me and poking me with their fingers, not to feel me up but more like to see if I was real was the way it seemed. They talked about me as if I wasn't there. I worried a little that they wouldn't like my boobs because they are small and it didn't make me feel any better when big, dumb Bob said, "fucking tits are for the birds". I wanted to smack him. But a couple of the other guys told Bob he was crazy, that my boobs were "perfectly round and firm", as one of them said, that "they're smallish, yeah, but they have nice shapes," as Fred said. I figured the guys would like the rest of me and it seemed that they did. They also seemed to like the fact that I don't have much hair on my you know what, which was understandable considering what they were planning to do to me. All I have down there is a blonde tuft above my slit and a few strands at the side, like whispy welcomers, so light in color you hardly notice them. Anyway, the guys were all pretty excited which is probably why they didn't think about what a guy named Elmer said, until he said it: Grandma's Big Oven and Me "I don't know if I want to go down on a whore." The other guys all stopped what they were doing then and started talking about Elmer's concern, which you have to admit was a sensible one. Grandpa brightened at this point. I saw the smile on his face as his friends began to back away from the idea of eating me. "Oh no, she's fine. She's clean as a whistle!," Grandma said in a loud voice, getting a panicky look on her face. Grandpa looked bewildered but I understood right away where Grandma was coming from, which is an example in case you don't know it of women being smarter then men, which starts, naturally, with girls being smarter than boys. I have a theory about this, one of my other theories, which is that the best things that human beings have are cocks and brains and since men have the cocks, God gave females better brains to kind of even things out. Anyway, what Grandpa didn't understand was that just as Grandma didn't want word to get out that she put her granddaughter in the oven with nothing on but an apple, which was why she was presenting me as a whore, she didn't want word to get out either that she had a whore in her oven, and the only way to keep this a secret was to involve these men and make them fearful of their wives. If they left the house without having sex with me they would feel free to blab all over town about the whore in Grandma's oven. "How do you know she's clean,?" Elmer said. Bob had been the big talker until then but now Elmer, who was a little wrinkled bald guy, was becoming like a leader. "Because she is, Elmer. She's... a virgin." "A virgin whore? What's that, Lucy, you got a virgin mother and a virgin queen, and now you got a virgin whore?", Elmer said. "Don't you be sassy with me, Elmer Smith. The man we got her from is saving her for an Arab Sheik. She has to be a virgin for this here shriek but it's all right for her to have other kinds of sex so as to give her some experience. You can believe that or not." "Lucy, you mean one of them Iraqi Shiites," Bob said. "No, Bob. I mean a sheik. They're like a prince. Abner was fibbin before but not paying enough for you fellas to fuck her. He just didn't want to say anything about the sheik. But now you know." "All right, if she's a virgin, she got a cherry. We can check that out," Elmer said. Grandma put her hands on her hips and had a staring contest with Elmer for a few seconds and then she said, "Yes we can," and she went over to the counter where she had put the pie she was going to bake before she decided to pretend to bake me, only you wouldn't know a pie was there because Grandma had draped it with a pair of dishcloths to hide it when Grandpa came home. She fiddled there at the counter with her back to us, and everyone wondering what she was doing, and then she came back with one of the dishcloths over her hand, draping it the way the other dishcloth still draped the pie. "Just in case I make her, you know, bleed a little," she said, showing us the dishcloth. "I'll check her first, Elmer, because if I don't find the proof that she's a virgin there's no use you checking her." So Grandma checked me out, concealing things for modesty's sake with the dishcloth, she explained to everyone, while I lay there wondering how she was going to wiggle out of the situation until I realized that her finger, which was doing some wiggling of its own, had a companion. Grandma was putting something inside me and I had a pretty good idea what it was. When her finger came out the something stayed behind. "Stay still," she told me, softly. "Go ahead, Elmer. Check her. She's a virgin for sure. The proof is in her pudding. But be careful you don't puncture her. Be easy, real easy." So Elmer checked me out, too. He had a pretty long finger and he was very careful with it, inching in like a guy feeling his way in a dangerous cave. Elmer had gotten a kind of worried look on his face ever since Bob said I might be being saved for an Iraqi Shiite and I think this worry made him extra careful. "Geez, I think I found it!," Elmer said about the same time I felt an odd nudge. Elmer acquired a pensive expression and I acquired another nudge. "I don't know," he said, "is this how a girl's cherry feels?" "I guarantee you, Elmer, it's exactly how a cherry feels," Grandma said. I would have laughed if I didn't have that darn gag in my mouth. I thought I knew what Grandma had put inside me and now I was sure of it. My favorite thing in Grandma's kitchen was the antique chandelier with its molded glass shades that hung over the dinner table. The lamp was right above my head and I had viewed it from this unusual perspective when I wasn't watching the men or my grandparents, and I happened to be looking at it when the lamp began to move. Whoops, I was the one moving. I had become so use to the men touching and poking at me that I didn't realize big dumb Bob had grabbed my ankles. Bob pulled me down the table, getting my legs over the end of it and then over his shoulders. No one said he could go first, Bob just decided that on his own. A bunch of shouting broke out. Some of the old guys yelled at Bob for taking matters, meaning me, into his own hands, meaning literally, while other guys were egging him on. "Yeah, Bob, make her cum, make her cum!", is one of the yells that made an impression on me. Grandma shouted, too. I heard her say, "ladies first!" I lost sight of Grandpa. He had backed away, or maybe he was behind me. It seemed everyone else was blabbing like crazy and moving this way and that way on both sides of the table or circling behind Bob at the end of the table. Bob wasn't blabbing himself, and the only part of him that was moving was his head, hurting me a little with his stubby beard, and after that the only part of him I could tell was moving was his tongue. Was it ever! Bob's tongue made me forget about the sandpaper on my thighs. His tongue was like Bob, big and pushy. I kind of respected Bob for being a take charge guy, for paying no attention to all the hub bub and doing to me what he wanted, and I got to really, really respect Bob's tongue. "Jesus, look at her," someone said. I couldn't help it. I was twisting at the waist and twisting my head at the same time. I don't know if you've ever tried panting through your nose. Don't bother if you haven't. Grandma saw the problem I was having. She pulled out my gag and pushed it under my chin, letting it stay strapped on me like a necklace. I heard myself gasping. Everyone else could hear it, too, because people had stopped talking by this time. Bob and I were putting on a pretty good show. Oh, geez!, I thought, suddenly. I was going to have an orgasm, which was bound to happen of course. Then everything stopped. I lifted my head to see what was wrong. Bob's wet face had lifted, too. It had a puzzled look and Bob's mouth was moving as if something had gotten inside it that Bob wasn't expecting. No one said a word. We all just looked at Bob, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was going to do. Several seconds went by while Bob blinked and worked his mouth. Then he swallowed, shrugged, and dipped his head from whence it came. Crisis over and no one except me, and probably Grandma, any the wiser about what had happened. Not every girl gets to lose her cherry twice, I laughed to myself, just before Bob's tongue turned my switch back on. I sort of went crazy after that. Bob made me cum just like the old guy had shouted for him to do. I was still quaking when Elmer started his turn. To make things worse, or maybe better, Grandma got whip cream from the frige and spooned it onto my boobs and tummy, then invited the guys to help themselves, so to speak. The coldness felt good on my skin once I got past the shock to my nipples. Bob pushed an old guy in front of him out of the way and moved right back in. He bent over me and I felt his mouth and tongue in a brand new way. I guess Bob had forgotten my tits were for the birds or probably the whip cream made them acceptable to his refined taste. Anyway, I couldn't complain. Bob was good as ever with his big fat mouth. Another guy took the other side. I closed my eyes. Bob and the new guy did me high and Elmer did me low. It was too much, even for a person having a slut episode. I swooned into a kinky dream in which I was surrounded by "Huge-kins", old guys with big cocks lining up to fuck me, and Grandma flying over us on a broomstick, screaming, "You're in the Land of Jiz, deary". Beyond the hulking Huge-kins a short yellow brick road led to a big oven at the end of it and the most amazing part of the dream came when Grandma hollered down that when the Huge-kins finished with me I would be made into a meat pie and cooked in the oven. That was when the dream ended. I came back to reality to find a whole new commotion going on. "Get out! Get out!." Grandpa was yelling. "There isn't time, Arnold," Grandma yelled back. She was at the kitchen window. Bob and the other guys who had been having me for dessert were standing around now, looking at each other. Remember I said at the beginning of this true story that my mother came to live with my grandparents after I did? Well, she was here. Her car had just driven up and she was getting out her suitcases. My grandparents weren't expecting her; she had invited herself. My mother was like Bob in that way. She always thought that because she was beautiful she could do anything she wanted. I think that attitude was partly why Daddy got fed up. Also, I didn't hear it in my dream, but in the frantic discussion over my mother showing up it came out who I really was. You would think that would be less surprising than me being a virgin whore who was supposed to be saved for a sheik, or maybe a Shiite, but the old guys seemed just as surprised as before. As usual, Grandma figured out what to do, which isn't to say she came up with the best plan in the world. Bob owns his own pest control company and the old guys had come with Bob in his van which has the words, "RAT BUSTERS!" on the sides with pictures of rats croaking on the floor. It was almost next to where my mother parked. Grandma said that she and Grandpa would go outside and stop my mother from coming in, saying that Bob and his workers were getting a rat in the house and that no one could go inside while they were doing that and this would give me time to get the whip cream and so forth off me and get my clothes back on and then I could go upstairs and be by myself in my room. Then the guys would come out with an old cardboard box Grandma pulled out from under the sink, saying the rat was in the box, and they would leave in the van and that would be that. Everyone said "ok" and Grandma and Grandpa hurried outside to intercept my mother. There was a long silence while Bob and the other guys seemed to be considering the situation and then Bob said, "lock the door." "Yeah, so her mother don't come in yet," one of the guys said. "No asshole. So we can fuck her." (to be continued)